Starfinder: A Novel of the Skylords (5 page)

“Esme looks fine to me, Leroux. She’s happy! Why don’t we just leave her the way she is? She’s gets everything she needs. Gumdrops . . .”

“No! I promised her I’d save her, Moth. She’s been like that so long she’s probably forgotten what it’s like to be real! You have to help her.”

“But how? If you couldn’t do it, how can I? Maybe it’s better this way, really.”

“But there is a way,” said Leroux carefully. “My gift to you. It will help you find Merceron. I’ve spent my whole life trying to figure it out. Now you must try, Moth.”

“I thought this story was your gift. Now there’s another? Where is it?”

Leroux grimaced. “I can’t tell you. But it’s yours, Moth. I’m giving it to you.”

Finally Moth was too frustrated to hear any more. “All right,” he said firmly, “I get it. I understand. Thanks.”

“Will you help Lady Esme?” asked Leroux. “Promise me you will, Moth. You must promise me.”

“I will, Leroux, I promise. I’ll help Lady Esme. I’ll figure out the gift and I’ll go find the wizard Moralon.”

“
Merceron
, Moth. His name is Merceron.”

“Merceron. Right. I won’t forget.” Moth stood up, taking Leroux’s frail hand. “But I can’t do this if I’m tired. It’ll be a lot of work. I have to get some sleep first.”

Leroux nodded. “Yes, yes. All right.”

“You sleep too,” said Moth, directing the old man back to his bedroom. “We’ll talk all about it in the morning.”

Leroux stopped at the doorway of his room. “I can’t tell you any more,” he said. “My story is finished now.”

Moth was past caring. “Fine. I got it all anyway. I’ll take care of everything.” He turned away, desperate to get back to sleep. “Good night.”

There was no sound as Leroux went back into his bedroom. Finally, everything was quiet.

 

Morning came too quickly for Moth. Bright sunlight poured in from the balcony, beckoning him awake. He turned his face away with a groan. As his brain came to life, he remembered the ridiculous conversation he’d had with Leroux just hours ago. He stirred, angry about what had happened but worried, too.

“Dr. Trik,” he moaned to himself, hoping the doctor could help him. Moth doubted he could go through the whole thing again tonight. He sat up, listening for Leroux. “Leroux?”

Lady Esme flapped overhead suddenly, startling him. The kestrel landed at his feet, calling madly in her high-pitched shriek.

“Quiet!” Moth snapped, cupping his ears.

The bird’s beak pulled at his pant leg. Moth shook free and shooed her away. Esme leapt up in a storm of feathers, cawing loudly and dashing toward Leroux’s bedroom. There she waited at the open door, dark eyes staring strangely at Moth.

Moth stood up slowly. Something in the kestrel’s eyes told him what had happened. Without words, he simply
knew
it. His heartbeat galloped, yet he could barely move at all, forcing himself toward Leroux’s bedroom. His shuffling feet brushed Esme away as he peered inside.

On the bed lay Leroux. He had stopped snoring.

OLD AGE WAS TO BLAME for Leroux’s death. Moth didn’t need Dr. Trik to tell him that. The years had piled onto Leroux’s back until he simply couldn’t bear them any longer. And it wasn’t a shock to Moth either. Instead, it felt like there was a great hole inside him. He had sat at the edge of Leroux’s bed for a time, watching his lifeless face before fetching the doctor. Mostly he wanted to thank Leroux.

By the time Dr. Trik had finished, the whole building knew what had happened. Mrs. Jilla arrived with her cat in her arms, instantly concerned about Moth. Moth had expected the old lady to dissolve into tears but she did not. She was strong for him instead, insisting he come back to her own apartment while Dr. Trik and his helpers took away Leroux’s body.

“That’s nothing you should see,” she told Moth, taking his hand. Other neighbors, some of whom had been at Moth’s party the night before, nodded in agreement, urging Moth to go.

Lady Esme was in her usual spot on the balcony, sulking in her nest. The bird barely acknowledged Moth as he left with Mrs. Jilla. She seemed lost in the same fog that had engulfed Moth himself, a haze of disbelief and loneliness. Up in Mrs. Jilla’s apartment, Moth let the kindly lady feed him and speak gently about the cycles of life and death, but the food had no taste and the words were meaningless to him. He was afraid to go back to Leroux’s apartment until the old knight’s body was removed. Where would he go now that Leroux was dead? He couldn’t pay for the apartment himself. He had no family and no savings either, just the meager wages he made at the aerodrome.

Overwhelmed, he closed his eyes and lay on her sofa, not realizing how tired he was until he awoke two hours later. Eager to see what was happening back at home, he thanked Mrs. Jilla, promised he would return soon, and headed down the flights of outdoor stairs toward home.

As he reached the tiny landing outside Leroux’s apartment he noticed the door swinging open on its hinges.

“Dr. Trik?” he called “You here?”

Moth took one step inside the apartment and gasped. A handful of men in dark suits swarmed through the place. With crowbars and axes they had opened the walls and ceiling, cut into the floor and the furniture, and overturned Moth’s books and papers, tossing them everywhere. Noticing Moth in the doorway, they stopped and turned on him.

“What’re you doing?” Moth cried.

The man nearest to Moth lowered his axe, looking like a well-dressed thug. For a moment he stared, unsure what to do. “You live here?” he asked.

“Yeah, I live here. Who are you?” Moth demanded.

The other men drew closer. The first man put up a hand to stop them. “Don’t,” he directed. Then he called out, “Governor? The kid’s back.”

Moth thought of running, then of screaming for help. The door to the balcony was wide open. Lady Esme was gone. Moth backed up a single step, but froze when he saw a man emerge from Leroux’s bedroom. Unlike the others, this was a man he knew.

Governor Rendor was unmistakable with his salt and pepper beard and stately attire. The towering figure had to stoop to get through the bedroom door, then rose up high like a cobra when he saw Moth.

“Good day, boy,” he pronounced.

Moth was dumbstruck. “What . . . ?”

“Don’t be alarmed,” said Fiona’s grandfather. He glided casually across the debris-strewn floor toward Moth. “Your friend Leroux is dead. This apartment belongs to the government now.”

“But my things . . .” sputtered Moth.

“Confiscated. For now.”

Moth glanced nervously around the room, trying to make sense of what was happening. “Where’s Leroux? Did Dr. Trik take him?”

The Governor replied, “He’ll be buried like an Eldrin Knight. I’ll see to that myself. Your friend Leroux was a great man. People forget what the Eldrin Knights did for this country. Now . . .” He squatted down to get closer to Moth. “Can you tell me where the bird is?”

“Bird?” asked Moth. “What bird?”

Rendor’s smile was as tight as a bowstring. “It would be a help if you told me.”

“A help for who? What are you doing here? What are you looking for?”

“The bird, boy. Where is she?”

Moth inched toward the door. Governor Rendor’s men closed in to stop him.

“No,” Rendor snapped at them. “Leave him.” He once again towered over Moth. “I suppose I have Fiona to thank for making you afraid of me. Are you afraid of me, boy? You needn’t be. If you help me find the kestrel I’ll reward you.”

“What do you want with her?”

“Enough questions. Just help me find her.”

“You won’t find her in the floorboards,” Moth snarled. “And you have no right to take my stuff.”

The Governor examined him closely, as if trying to decipher a puzzle. Finally he turned away. “Get back to work,” he told his men.

“No!”

Moth rushed at Rendor, but a henchman snagged his arm. The Governor shook his head. “Let him go.”

Afraid, confused, Moth watched helplessly as the others went back to searching the apartment. Then, sure he’d be in danger if he stayed, he turned and bolted from the apartment, his feet clattering down the staircase as he raced away.

 

Governor Rendor went to the doorway, watching Moth speed down the stairs. When he reached the bottom, the boy ran along the street, disappearing quickly around a corner. The man who had taken Moth’s arm stood next to the Governor, wondering what to do.

“I could go after him,” he suggested.

Rendor thought for a moment. All he had seen on the boy’s face was shock. No concealment, no obscurity. Just surprise.

“Let him go,” said Rendor finally. “He doesn’t know anything.”

As his man rejoined the others, Rendor leaned against the door, sure that Leroux had been true to his word. Leroux had talked about the Reach but hadn’t whispered a word about the Starfinder, not even to young Moth. Rendor was sure of it. He glanced into the ramshackle room. The Starfinder was his now. All he had to do was find it.

BY THE TIME MOTH REACHED the aerodrome his lungs ached from running. In his mad dash to get away he raced through the streets of Calio’s old section, cutting across the busy marketplace filled with vendors, and then at last to the north side of the mountain, into the flatlands where the aerodrome stood. In the shadow of a docking pylon he came to a halt, resting against the concrete structure to catch his breath. His eyes scanned for anyone who might have followed him. Overhead came the whoosh and buzz of speeding dragonflies. Two massive airships had already moored near the hangars, tied down by steel cables. The airfield was noisy with activity, but the empty stretch of land between it and the city was quiet.

Moth bent forward, putting his hands upon his knees to catch his breath. Leroux was dead. That was all he should be thinking about, and yet . . . and yet . . .

Questions zoomed through his brain. Fiona’s grandfather wanted something, but what? Moth thought of Lady Esme. Where was that blasted bird? And where was Fiona? He needed to speak to her, find out what was going on.

Moth peered around the pylon. He had never seen the aerodrome so busy. On the main strip outside the hangars a contingent of Skyknights gathered near one of the airships. Passengers poured through the open doors of the ship’s control car. The Skyknights looked resplendent in their blue dress uniforms, their jackets stiff with starch and studded with brightly polished buttons. Along the side of the airship draped a long, scarlet banner, the standard of Heres, a city in the far south of the country. Moth suddenly remembered what Fiona had told him about the meeting her grandfather had arranged. The governor of Heres was probably aboard that airship right now.

And yet there was no sign of Rendor or his men. Moth paused, wondering about his plan. He had no place to go, and really only one friend he could turn to for help. He scanned the group of pilots for Skyhigh.

No sign of him.

Moth took a deep breath, combed his hair with his fingers, then stepped out onto the field. Up ahead loomed the main hangar, one of a dozen such buildings lined up like soldiers on the south side of the aerodrome, all constructed of the same gleaming metal with rounded roofs to accommodate the giant airships. The main hangar was also where Skyhigh’s platoon barracked.

With so much activity going on, Moth didn’t expect anyone to care much that he’d arrived. He was late for work, but if he grabbed a mop or bucket no one would notice him. He hurried inside, entering the gigantic hangar through one of its gaping doors. Skyknights and their squires threaded through the dragonflies and crates of machine parts. Moth glanced around for Skyhigh. Out on the strip he could see the dignitaries milling near the airship.

“Moth!”

The shout made Moth jump. He turned to see Major Hark striding toward him, his body wrapped in a perfectly tailored uniform.

“Where you been, boy? We’ve got people coming. I need you to start on airstrip two.”

Major Hark didn’t notice Moth’s rumpled clothes or sweat-stained face. His tense expression revealed the pressure he was under today. For a moment Moth stared blankly at the Major, wanting to beg his help. But he could not. He couldn’t trust anyone now, only Skyhigh.

“I’m sorry,” he told Hark. “I couldn’t get here any sooner. Stuff at home—”

“Save the excuses and get to work, will ya? There’s another ship coming in and I have to get the strip brushed down. Just get your broom and get out there, check?”

“Yes, sir,” Moth answered. “I’ll do that. Have you seen Skyhigh anywhere, sir?”

“Skyhigh’s getting ready to fly escort,” snapped Hark as he turned back toward the crowd. “Don’t get underfoot.”

Moth gave a curt reply, then sighted Skyhigh walking out toward the airstrip. He waited until Hark was safely away before he bolted toward his friend. Unlike the others, Skyhigh was dressed for flying, his helmet nestled in the crook of his elbow. Moth came up behind him, snagging his sleeve.

“Skyhigh, wait!”

Startled, Skyhigh quickly tugged back his arm, annoyed until he noticed who had grabbed him. “Moth?”

“I have to talk to you,” said Moth. He glanced around, wanting no one to overhear them.

“Can’t. Not now,” replied Skyhigh, and kept on walking. “The dragonfly’s waiting.”

Moth followed him out onto the gravel-paved field. He could see Skyhigh’s craft at the end of the strip. Out to the east a big, black spot was moving against the blue sky, getting slowly closer.

“Skyhigh, hold on,” Moth urged. “It’s important.”

“Later,” Skyhigh called over his shoulder.

“Please!”

The Skyknight stopped. Turning, he saw Moth’s face twisting with emotion, on the verge of tears. “Moth?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Leroux’s dead.” The words simply dropped from Moth’s mouth. “And when I got back to the apartment Governor Rendor was there tearing it apart. He’s taken everything. Now he’s looking for Lady Esme . . .”